This piece was inspired largely by the episode Stranded, which is one of my personal favorites. I was intrigued by the idea of Starfire's powers being directed by specific emotions, and find it pretty dang impressive that she's able to use abilities like joy-powered flight in the middle of some extremely stressful battles. It made me curious about just what it was about the situation in Stranded that made her lose control, and in the midst of analyzing the death out of the episode I found that the emotional confusion she cites both makes a lot of sense and is actually rather intriguing. Thus, this fic – which explores first the beginning of the episode from her point of view and then the way she might deal with the incident afterward – was born.

Just so you know, I've actually already finished the first draft and a large chunk of the editing for the remaining chapters, so they should be posted soon!

Chapter One: Unbridled Joy

Flight always seemed to come naturally when Starfire had Robin by her side.

In battle, the unbridled joy of flight was simultaneously the most crucial and most difficult of her power-linked emotions to maintain. Fury and confidence could often be pulled from the very act of facing off against a threat to the people, and there were Tamaranean warriors who used a thrill of the fight to sustain their joy, but Starfire had always considered the latter practice dangerous. Instead, she often had to rely on her k'non and k'nonaki, mental bonds she had forged that could quickly inspire necessary emotions, to keep herself in the air. K'non weren't exactly difficult to use – their construction was one of the first skills a Tamaranean warrior learned, after all – but they still required that extra measure of concentration.

When she had her friends with her, though, joy came more easily. She supposed it only made sense. Most of her k'non were linked to people, and these days, she almost always pulled joy from thoughts of her teammates. Why not, then, allow their closeness itself to inspire her? And… there was something altogether more satisfying about letting her emotions and powers sustain themselves. It was more natural. More pure. A way of letting go and simply being.

So it was that, when she and Robin had begun tag-teaming with the help of her flight, she had gladly let herself fall into the rhythm. Robin was her leader, her best friend, and her… something more, she was sure… And if the thrill of his touch was enough to get them into the air where she could remove him from harm's way or throw him back into the fray, then so be it. She could switch back to her k'non in an instant, but those little moments gave her a welcome reprieve from the constant strain of emotional control.

That was why, when the two of them dove off the satellite catwalk to lure the shrieking creature into a trap, she had let go of all thought for a moment, reached out to clasp his hand, and then let the harmony of their unspoken communication and the warm realization of his complete trust in her and the simple feeling of his hand in hers lift them back up over the railing. And that was why, when they landed, Starfire found herself more than a little… giddy.

It really didn't help that he followed it up by complimenting her.

Okay, um, she thought to herself. What was the phrase Cyborg taught me? 'Play it cool?' Yes. I believe I can do that. Return the compliment, and the affectionate punch to the shoulder that had come with it. Easy.

…Only she forgot to turn off her high-strength and knocked him clear across the path. She could feel the heat in her face now, and even she wasn't sure how much of it was from embarrassment and how much was pleasure over the odd little moment they were sharing.

Robin scrambled to his feet and rubbed his sore arm, but instead of getting upset at her, he commended her strength. X'hal, this man was adorable.

Oh, right. Cool. Um, she supposed she should return the compliment again? Yes, that seemed prudent. This was fine.

As she babbled something about abundant limb strength, Cyborg piped up behind her. "Let's go," he said, turning toward Robin. "…Unless you wanna stay here goofing around with your girlfriend."

Starfire blinked. Girlfriend? She turned the word over in her head. It was simple in construction, but she had heard it spoken enough to know that it usually held a meaning beyond the obvious. There were… romantic connotations, yes? She supposed that, given the closeness of her and Robin's bond and the clear affection they shared, it was a fair enough thing to call her.

…So why was Robin showing such signs of distress?

"She's not my girlfriend!"

A lot happened after that. The monster reappeared at the worst possible time, the communication satellite was utterly destroyed, and in the ensuing chaos, the split pods of the T-ship were caught in the nearby planet's gravitational field and all crashed separately.

And through it all, Starfire had felt her emotional control slipping – and Robin had refused to answer the simple question that would have helped her rebalance herself.

Starfire groaned and leaned back against the seat of her pod. That last shriek must have damaged something in its systems, and she'd barely regained enough control to pull out of a dive and minimize the impact of her landing. She was… physically fine, but she could only pray that the others had managed no worse. They were strong, though, and Cyborg built his vehicles to carry them through anything the superhero life threw at them. Even now, the interior of her pod was almost entirely intact.

All that remained, then, was to find her friends. She grabbed her communicator, hoping that it could still pick up a signal after all that had happened.

The hiss of static that greeted her when she tried its button made short work of that hope. Slumping back again, she grit her teeth in frustration and slammed a fist into the side of the pod.

Too late, she realized that denting her ship would only make matters worse. She winced as she glanced over to assess the damage and…

…

There wasn't a single mark on the smooth metal surface.

Starfire's throat went dry as she remembered just why she'd been so agitated back on the satellite. In her time as a Titan, she had carefully honed her confidence into a constant, subconscious thing that she could use to pull forth her high-strength on reflex. Strength was always on hand in times of distress, and even a thoughtless act such as this should have made an impact.

Instead, the moment only highlighted what she was beginning to realize as she turned her attention inward.

Tamaraneans were passionate beings, built to embrace and express their emotions in full. They could learn to control the direction of their emotions, yes, but that control still relied on the need to truly feel. She had learned by now that humans didn't work quite the same way; they were more secretive in general, and those who expressed themselves completely seemed to be considered abnormal. It was a difficult mindset for Starfire to fully wrap her head around, but she had a lifetime's practice of meeting and interacting with other species of different psychologies, and she could at least understand and appreciate the concept.

But that didn't explain why Robin – her Robin, who had always been so comfortable around her and was often more open with her than with the others – had so vehemently denied a suggestion of the special bond they shared. Or, worse, why he had suddenly closed his thoughts to her. She was uncertain of what she thought she knew about them, now. She feared that what Cyborg had said, or perhaps something she herself had done, had damaged their friendship in a way that could not be repaired. She worried that he had never felt, and never would feel, the same way about her as she did about him. And in some ways, that worry was the worst part of it – because she was quite certain by now that she was in love with him, and love was not something a Tamaranean could give up easily.

But none of those emotions were what she needed. Closing her eyes, she set them aside to be dealt with later and tried to pull forth confidence instead.

Without thinking, she went to her k'nonaki and, to focus her thoughts, plucked at the first appropriate memory that came to mind. A pleased grin, an affectionate punch to the shoulder, the words "Great work, Starfire!"

"Give me space!" That part of the memory lashed at her unbidden, and she grit her teeth. Robin hadn't snapped at her like that since the incident with the dust and…

No. No, she was getting off track. Those memories were the opposite of what she needed. Foolish girl, she should have known better than to reach for her k'nonaki now.

Another source, then. She picked a k'non at random and pulled up a memory – a training session she and Raven had been doing just that morning to practice combining their energies. Harder than it looked, but each attempt had them more nearly in sync. Finally, a connection, Raven's magic arcing through her own starbolts, the training dummy blasting clear across the course. A rare satisfied smirk on her stoic friend.

Better. Starfire clung to the memory and tried to ignore the little doubts and worries and uncertainties niggling in from the side. Tried to replay the scene in her mind's eye (X'hal, had it really been that same day?) and focus on her sense of accomplishment and the boundless confidence it promised (Not every team move had to end in confusion and doubt).

With a deep breath, she pushed up on the entrance to her pod, testing her strength. It began to loosen, built to pop off manually if the electronic systems failed, but there was far too much resistance. She was relying entirely on physical muscle.

A low growl rose in Starfire's throat as those loose threads of confidence drifted away, and they were replaced with another emotion. Anger.

What was wrong with Robin? Why had he shut down on her? Why had he brushed aside such a simple question, when she clearly needed an answer? Did he not know how important it was for Tamaraneans to communicate clearly with their friends, lest something like this happen?

(The rational part of her brain reminded her that he did not in fact know this. Raven was the only Titan she had ever fully explained the mechanics of her powers to, and then only because she was the one in control of them at the time. But right now, Starfire was hurt, and confused, and vulnerable and upset, and it was not really the right mood for thinking rationally.)

Fine then. If she had to be angry now, at least it was an emotion she could use. She held out a hand, took hold of her irritation, and tried to will a starbolt into existence. For good measure she conjured a mental image of Slade, taunting Raven, taunting ALL of them, threatening Robin, burning the Mark of Skath into an entire city district…

For an instant she thought she saw a flicker of green in her palm, but again the muddled thoughts of the moment clawed through and crowded out her memories. By itself, her anger at the current situation was not enough – it was tense frustration, not righteous fury.

For the third time, Starfire leaned back into her seat and groaned. There was no point in even testing for flight – unbridled joy was the furthest emotion from her mind right now. Here she was, alone, on a little-known, distant planet and completely locked out of all her powers. She did not know the last time she had felt so helpless.

With a deep breath, she sat up. No, she was not helpless. She was still a warrior, still a Titan, and if she could not fly or use her starbolts then she would just have to change her strategy. She scanned her surroundings through the window of her pod, and with everything clear, pushed against it again.

The window popped up with a hiss, and she carefully set it back behind her as she reviewed what she knew of this place.

The T-ship had been pulled into this planet's gravity field shortly after they had fled the communication station, so it had to be the same one the satellite had been orbiting. Exxis, she believed it was called. It was in the next star system from Earth's – the satellite had primarily been a relay for interstellar communication – and though it was habitable, the only known sapient residents were somewhat secretive and held little interest in space travel. They had permitted construction of the relay, but the planet itself was considered hostile and was not widely explored by visitors.

Starfire opened a compartment beside her seat and retrieved the bow and the quiver of arrows within. Though much less versatile than starbolts, they gave her an alternative ranged attack for situations such as this. She wished she had something for close range as well, but there was nothing for it now.

A low gurgle snapped her to attention, and she looked up to discover a creature making its way toward her. It was a green, bulbous thing, with six legs and four wicked fangs, and even as she watched it broke into a run.

With a sharp hiss, Starfire leaped back onto the exterior of her pod and braced herself. The creature was fast, and she would not have time to nock an arrow before it was too close, so instead she crouched low and waited for it to pounce before aiming a hard kick on its underside.

The strike connected, but the monster's skin gave a little and her boot caught fast rather than knocking it back. It reared and lunged, snapping at her, and she had to raise her bow to block its jaws.

With the added leverage, she managed to yank her foot free of the creature's gummy flesh. She scraped her boot along the wall of her pod, removing some of the sticky substance left behind, and held her ground. The creature continued pushing at her, trying to snap around her bow, but it was lighter than it looked and not exceptionally strong.

Starfire glanced around, calculating her next move. This creature was too fast to run from, and she was in a poor position to take it down, but perhaps she could take advantage of their location.

With a deep breath, she gave the creature a hard shove. It lost its balance and tipped back, over the edge it had been standing by and into the interior of her pod. She immediately jumped behind where she'd set the port window and shoved it back over the entryway, then clambered on top of it to lock it in place.

The monster righted itself and slammed against the window, and she tensed. The window held fast, though, and after a moment she eased herself off the pod. She let out a breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Okay… okay. She was all right. That had not been such a terrible battle. Yet, that was only because she'd been fortunate enough to have a means of trapping the monster close at hand. With the rush of adrenaline seeping away, she had a chance to resent the fact that it would have been so much easier if she'd been able to fly away and perhaps frighten it off with a volley of starbolts.

That was what it all came back to, then. She would not be able to ignore her relative weakness of the moment, mostly because that weakness was stemming from her own tangled tide of emotions. It was unbelievably frustrating. She'd managed herself through terror, despair, betrayal, loss, shock, and she was certain she could deal with heartbreak if it came to it. But this, this sheer emotional confusion, was by its very nature something she just could not seem to break through.

There was little she could do about that right now, though. Turning away from her pod, she mentally mapped the general area where the others should have crashed, picked a direction, and started off. Together they would get the ship repaired and leave this forsaken planet, and in time she would sort out her mental block – with or without Robin's help.

And then when they got home, she was going to find a way to ensure this didn't happen again.

…She hoped.